


Hemlock Honey and Silver

by cuddleslutloki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Prince Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 03:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13627626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddleslutloki/pseuds/cuddleslutloki
Summary: Companion piece to Blood and GoldGreat lover, egalitarian, war monger, torturer, humanitarian. It scarcely seemed possible for all of those words to fit one man, especially one just barely older than Castiel.





	Hemlock Honey and Silver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beestiels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beestiels/gifts).



> this is technically unfinished, but i haven't made an edit since march 2017 so it's time to post it. i like the story, and the only thing missing is the sex scene, so here you go

Castiel saw him first at dinner. The procession of golden banners with black stripes could be seen for three miles as it came up the mountain, causing a stir in the city. It was Inias who’d burst in to say the Winchesters were on their way up. Even being sixth-born, Castiel was expected to be at dinner. He was still noble, and they had their respects to pay. The king and queen invited his father personally. An invite from royalty wasn’t so much an invite as an order. Like inviting a traitor to the gallows.

Rumors of the crown prince were easy to hear; all one had to do was listen to the shadows where people thought their voices were hidden. Shadow could hide a person from sight, but whispers were far more resilient. 

Great lover, egalitarian, war monger, torturer, humanitarian. It scarcely seemed possible for all of those words to fit one man, especially one just barely older than Castiel. His curiosity had been piqued, so he could easily endure a night of court formalities and smalltalk. He snuck his own flask in with him, and he and his father shared it in turns. They were seated reasonably close to the front of the room, just within earshot. 

The first thing Castiel noticed about Dean was his laughter. He practically glowed when a smile lifted his face, light filling his eyes as his voice took everyone’s attention. It was like fire in a freezing room.

He hadn’t realized he’d also caught Dean’s attention until the next day when he was out in the garden by the courtyard. Young dukes from various families wrestled with each other clumsily, throwing each other around like dogs after meat. Castiel plucked flowers and checked on berries, all the while silently thinking about all the ways he could have already spilled gallons of royal blood.

A left side wide open there, unsteady footing here, that boy didn’t know how to center himself and use his size to his advantage. It was a miracle by the grace of Heaven that they could kill so much as a butterfly, let alone anything with teeth.

Castiel was too busy watching the field to notice when Dean was suddenly present. Someone’s squire caught sight of him first, and then everyone else fell silent and dropped to one knee. Heir apparent, crown prince, a dragon in man’s skin. Castiel smiled to himself and bowed out of respect from his hidden place behind the trellises. 

The fighting picked back up, the boys now trying twice as hard and looking even more foolish than before. Castiel could tell from Dean’s face that he was doing just what Castiel had been. These children sparred with one another using wooden swords, but Dean had actually fought the war that was ravaging the mountains and valleys in the East. 

One of the young dukes must have been feeling a little extra weight between his legs, because he stepped right out in front of Dean like they were equals. Castiel came out from hiding and observed the proceedings openly.

“Prince Winchester! Did you come to watch, or to fight?” The boy’s name wasn’t important; he wasn’t set for land or a crown. He was a third-born with no future except what he made. Castiel could relate.

Dean smiled and spread his arms open. “You see my clothing—I came to fight. You volunteering?”

He stepped forward as he spoke, and the entire field of young men moved backward at once like a flock of sheep feeling the teeth of a shepherd’s dog at their ankles. 

That warm, brilliant laugh filled the air as Dean let his arms drop. He turned toward Castiel and raised an eyebrow. “What about you? You fight?”

The other young men all burst into laughter at once. The same who challenged Dean shook his head dismissively. “Castiel? He’s a gardener. Sixth-born to one of my uncles. Probably couldn’t fight off a curious wasp, let alone any of us.”

Dean kept looking at Castiel, a gentle smile sitting on his gorgeous lips. “Why don’t you shut up and let him answer my challenge himself? Do you sting when you’re away from your flowers, Castiel?”

Their laughter stopped, the silence so abrupt it almost screamed. Castiel frowned down at his hands, at the dirt under his nails and in the creases of his palms. He wasn’t really in any shape to be fighting a prince, but his honor and his family’s relied on his acceptance. Better to fight without a bath than to even come close to confirming this unnamed cousin’s insult. If he was lucky, he could find out which cousin this was and kill him later.

“What weapon do you favor, your grace?” Castiel walked onto the field with his head high.

Dean’s soft smile turned into a vicious grin, his spirits visibly lifting as he ran to the racks and produced two wooden short swords for practice. Castiel easily caught his weapon as it was tossed to him. There were whispers from the edge of the field, and no small amount of laughter had picked back up. He blocked it out of his perception and focused on Dean instead. There was risk to this, of course. Without ever having seen Dean in combat, he couldn’t know what to expect. The stories that filtered in from soldiers coming home were unreliable at best. 

They circled around each other for a moment. Dean was relaxed, his gait easy and his back slightly curved. Castiel himself kept an upright posture; it probably looked rigid in comparison to the way Dean’s body flowed over the grass. The circling went on and on, but Castiel was resolute that he was not going to strike first. 

Dean’s first swipe came out of nowhere, smooth and natural as any other movement in their game. Castiel moved out of the way and swung his false blade into the space beneath Dean’s arm, ready to strike him in the ribs. As quickly as he was moving, Dean was almost faster. The wood of their weapons hit dully, and they parried and walked three paces toward the trellises before Castiel was able to force Dean back with a swift kick to the stomach. Dean absorbed the hit easily, even laughing as he readjusted his grip and got ready to lunge in for another attack. No one was whispering or laughing anymore. 

Just as Dean was moving to swing again, a loud shout halted him.

“Dean!” A young voice came from behind, quick footsteps coming along with it. “Dean, Dad wants you and me to go hunting with Michael. He and Mom are gonna stay here and socialize.” 

Dean relaxed out of his stance and took the wooden sword from Castiel with surprisingly gentle hands. It wasn’t until Dean was walking to put the weapons away that Castiel let himself look at Dean’s younger brother, Sam. He stood about shoulder height to Castiel, his young frame gangly and awkward the way all teenage boys’ were. Their eyes met and Castiel inclined his head in respect, to which Sam smiled and did the same. 

Dean ruffled Sam’s hair and put an arm around his shoulders to lead him away. Sam was talking as they walked, and every few steps Dean would look back toward Castiel, something new in his eye that was hard to identify.

Castiel turned back to the dukes once the princes were out of earshot. He said nothing, simply met their eyes and dared them to speak to him. When he was satisfied their tails and other hanging parts were sufficiently tucked between their legs, he went back to his garden. 

———

Another two banquets came and went, but Castiel didn’t get a chance to speak with Dean in person again. A third was now upon them, and Castiel was growing impatient. Now that he knew Dean had taken an interest in him, he could tell when he was being watched. Between bouts of laughter with noble girls, Dean’s gaze always drifted in Castiel’s direction. He felt himself being followed across the banquet hall, hunted as he ducked and weaved between guests unnoticed. For all his hunting, Dean didn’t move away from his spot where he was thronged in girls angling to be queen one day. That had to change.

Castiel looked back and caught Dean’s eye, holding the stare for a handful of seconds before hiding himself behind a servant taking an empty tray back to the kitchen. He slowed himself minimally, letting Dean get just a glimpse of him as he turned and went down the hall. There was no guarantee he was going to be followed, but Dean didn’t strike him as the kind of hunter to let go of devious prey. 

He turned left and went up the stairs to the guest quarters. Dean’s was probably in this wing, somewhere with west-facing windows that would let him watch the setting sun each evening. Castiel heard footsteps coming up the stairs and made another left, running down a dead-end hall. He pressed himself against the wall, hiding behind the profile of a statue. 

The corridor was quiet, but he could hear the slightest slip of soft leather from Dean’s boots moving against the tile floor. He listened as the steps advanced, coming closer and closer. Dean was less than ten paces away, and then the sound stopped. Castiel frowned and moved as much as he dared, but there wasn’t even a shadow flickering on the floor from the candlelight. It wasn’t possible for Dean to be gone. Was it? No, of course not. Skilled as he was he was only a man, and men didn’t disappear into thin air. 

Castiel let his concentration slip as he got wrapped up in his thoughts, else he might have heard the quick steps Dean took to round the statue. The prince was in front of him with no warning, leaving him only to react as his hands were pinned to the wall and a thick thigh was shoved between his legs. He couldn’t help the way his blood rushed south and started filling his cock. It was rare that anyone could make him fear. 

Dean didn’t spare any time for idle chat or bragging, just pressed his mouth to Castiel’s and groaned when his tongue and teeth met no resistance. He could probably taste the alcohol in Castiel’s mouth, honey and barley mixed sweeter than wine. Castiel pressed his hips forward and let Dean feel the effect he was having. He felt Dean’s cock press into his hip in kind, a vicious pleasure making him moan. The hands pinning his moved to his ass, groping him through his trousers roughly. Dean handled him like he couldn’t be broken. 

Castiel shivered when Dean’s thigh pressed up against his cock so hard it almost hurt. His whimper earned him a dark chuckle from Dean. The kiss broke right as Castiel’s lungs were starting to burn for breath. Dean grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head to the side, kissing and biting at his neck. A wave of heat rolled over Castiel’s skin, making his cock throb and his nipples harden as every hair on his body stood on end. 

The collar of his shirt was ripped in Dean’s haste to pull it aside. The sting that came after was unmistakable. Dean was leaving a mark on him. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth against the fluttering of his stomach. He was getting himself in trouble by doing this. They could take this to Dean’s room, he could spread his legs and let Dean fuck him raw and fill him with come, but it would never be enough. Dean was only staying for another week at most. He could ache for days, let Dean mark him and leave him with scars, but it would only make it worse. No one wanted him like this. No one wanted his violence and his games. He’d never met someone worthy before.

Dean’s hands went gentle all of a sudden, the touches light and tender as they untucked his shirt and wandered inside to feel his skin. Castiel felt an ache break open in his chest. If it went much further, Castiel wasn’t going to be able to let Dean leave. 

A soft moan from Dean pulled Castiel out of his head and back into the moment. His clothing was sticking to his skin, sweat beading up across his body. The heat coming from Dean’s body reminded him of standing next to a bonfire. 

Dean smiled and pressed another quick kiss to his lips. “I told the girls I had to go change the bandages on a stab wound.” 

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Dean shrugged one shoulder. “Technically.” 

Castiel brushed a stray lock of hair off of Dean’s forehead. “I could help, if you like.”

Dean stepped back, taking the heat with him and leaving Castiel cold against the wall. A small smile curled his lips. 

He gestured to the doors at Castiel’s left. “Did you know this is my room?”

Castiel took a short step away from the wall, his cock making walking a little awkward. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

Dean laughed softly and shook his head, then opened one door and gestured for Castiel to follow him inside. Saying the room was spacious would have been an insult. Castiel had seen houses smaller than this one apartment, but it was probably downright cozy to Dean. Or maybe not. Dean may’ve been spoiled, but he was also a general. Royal tents in army camps could be lavish, but they were rarely luxuriant. 

Dean sat down in front of a vanity and lit the lamps beside the mirror. Castiel busied himself with getting a bowl of water while Dean removed his shirt. One shoulder was well-wrapped, the bandages on it tinged pink, which was normal, but there was also a slight yellow discoloration and a sick smell coming from them. Castiel frowned deeply, an action mirrored by Dean. 

“Probably shouldn’t have bathed in the stream on that hunt.” Dean sighed as he peeled the bandages off his skin.

Castiel shook his head. “Princes and kings are always foolish.”

Dean scoffed and remained still as Castiel began to clean. “Is that right?”

“Yes. You think yourselves invincible, or at least more powerful than illness and death. Apologies if I’m the bearer of bad news, Prince, but the one thing every king in history has in common is that they’ve died.” Castiel gently pulled the wound open to see how much sick flesh there was.

Dean was silent, watching him intently. After a moment he brushed a lock of hair behind Castiel’s ear. “Anything interesting?”

“This wound will kill you if it isn’t treated properly, and preferably right this instant.” Castiel reached inside his doublet and pulled a small bag out of an inner pocket.

Dean watched with interest but made no remark. 

Castiel poured the contents of one vial onto clean gauze and looked Dean in the eye. “Do you trust me?”

A smirk pulled at one side of Dean’s mouth. “As much as any prince can trust an assassin.”

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but Dean grabbed his wrist and forced the gauze to his own skin, then pulled further until Castiel’s palm was flat. The ointment was pressed firmly into the wound, pressure making it soak into the flesh.

“So, what’s in this stuff?” Dean kept hold of his wrist, but the touch wasn’t binding. It was a request.

“How do you know I’m an assassin?” Castiel pressed the gauze harder, massaging the wound and getting blood to flow.

Dean shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “You mean besides all the mountain laurel and foxglove you’re growing? I saw your beehives. You’ve got this tree growing near them with bright yellow flowers. It’s pasture poison–or at least that’s what we call it. I’ve seen cattle graze on those flowers and drop dead. I thought it could’ve been coincidence, but then we fought. No gardener is that quick with a sword.”

“He is if he wants to keep rodents away from his plants.” Castiel pulled the gauze away and wiped the wound again. 

“Somehow I don’t think you’ve ever had that problem.” Dean let go of his wrist. “Gonna answer my question?”

“Not all of my plants are poisonous. This is mostly a decoction of black sampson flowers. You might know them as echinacea. I had seeds imported. The rest of it is just rosemary and honey. It’ll kill most of the sickness that’s started to form, and your body can do the rest.” Castiel quickly worked to re-wrap Dean’s shoulder after another liberal application of ointment.

Dean sat quietly, watching his face or his hands mostly. He didn’t speak again until Castiel took away the bowl of water with the dirty bandages. 

“You ever think about leaving?” Dean asked.

“Excuse me?” Castiel stood awkwardly by the doors, expecting Dean to dismiss him.

Dean stood and walked over to a couch in the corner of the room, lighting more lamps and motioning for Castiel to join him. The hallway outside was perfectly silent. Most people wouldn’t be leaving the banquet for several more hours yet. He only hesitated until Dean motioned to him again, a real order hidden in the gesture. 

He went willingly with a nervous flutter in his stomach as he sat down. Dean reached out and traced the edge of the love bite, a shiver breaking out in Castiel’s body that he couldn’t suppress.

“Do you think about leaving the mountains?” The question was more breath than voice. Dean didn’t want the rest of the room hearing, like the furniture might betray them.

Castiel’s brows furrowed. “It’s never been a possibility. I have plenty of work here.”

Dean scoffed. “It’s always been a possibility; you just aren’t looking. What happens when work thins out, or if the wrong person gets nosy and you get caught?”

Castiel shrugged away from Dean’s touch. “Why do you care?”

Dean made an empty gesture with one hand. “I’m going to be king someday.”

Castiel tilted his head and stared at Dean, studying his face to get a clue about the cryptic answer. There weren’t any clues to be found, just Dean studying him in kind.

He nodded his head toward Dean’s bandages. “You won’t live to be king if you don’t let that wound breathe during the day. Mountain air is dry. It’ll do you good.” 

Dean chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it, healer.”

Castiel made to speak, but the doors burst open and cut him off. A giggly noble girl took three steps into the room, then stopped when she saw them. She knew Castiel, maybe not by name, but she knew his garden enough to stand straight and give a proper curtsy. 

“I’m very sorry, I must have the wrong room.” She kept posture like she was in church, her eyes lingering on Castiel despite Dean’s lack of shirt.

Dean put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, the weight possessive and commanding. “Apparently, my lady.”

Castiel bit back a smile and looked at Dean sidelong. The girl left in a rush, closing the doors so fast Castiel was surprised she didn’t catch her own skirt. 

Dean leaned over and pressed a kiss to his jaw, the hand on Castiel’s shoulder sliding to his neck and up into his hair. 

Castiel closed his eyes. “She’ll talk.”

Dean hummed. “Does she know your name?”

“She knows my father.” Castiel gasped when Dean’s other hand slid up his thigh and cupped his cock.

“Is that a problem?” Dean paused, lips hovering just over Castiel’s skin.

“Personally or politically?” Castiel asked.

“Ah.” Dean pulled his hands back, but placed another kiss on Castiel’s jaw. “You’ll need to be going, then?”

“For my family’s sake. If you weren’t a prince, it wouldn’t be a problem.” He hated the words as he spoke them. 

Dean stood, an easy smile still on his lips. “We all have shit we do for our families. Can’t be caught looking like you’re buttering up a future king, can you?”

Castiel got up and followed Dean to the doors. He pressed a kiss to Dean’s collarbone beside the fresh bandages, then left as quickly as his feet would allow. No one even noticed as he slipped back into the crowd. Dean never came back down for the end of the banquet. 

———

The foxglove blooms were pristine, some of the healthiest he’d ever nursed. It wouldn’t be long before he could select which plants to uproot and harvest whole, and which he would use to gather seeds. 

Footsteps approached from behind him, slow enough not to be dangerous. He turned when they were close and was surprised to find Dean standing in front of him with a wide smile. It had been half a week since they left the banquet together. Castiel’s father had been absent, and when he wasn’t he’d been skittish. It had seemed confirmation of that girl’s loose lips getting his family in trouble, starting lies about him getting in with a prince to get them more power. Few things were more dangerous than rumors at court. 

Dean stepped in and pinned him to the table, leaning in slowly until Castiel pressed back to close the distance. The courtyard was empty; he could indulge in this bit of warmth. In a matter of days Dean would be leaving, and he could go back to the peace and quiet of his garden.

He moaned when Dean bit down on his lower lip, pulling and playing with it. Fire he’d scarcely felt before fanned out over his skin, hottest wherever Dean was touching him. 

The kiss broke, and they both breathed in deeply. Dean stayed close, resting his forehead on Castiel’s. A light, airy laugh filled the air and made the ache in Castiel’s chest that much worse.

“Do you remember when I asked if you sting when you’re not in your garden?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded, his chest so close to bursting with emotion he could barely stand. “I do, why?”

“I’ve been talking to your father. If you consent, there’s a contract already written up. It just needs the right signatures.” Dean pressed a kiss to his brow. “You’ll be my personal attendant. I’ll give you everything you want, Cas. Anything. There are so many flowers that grow down in the valleys that don’t up here. You’ll love them. I’ll build you a greenhouse, an apiary, whatever you want. I swear.”

Castiel grabbed Dean’s face and pulled him in for a rough, biting kiss. He threw himself into it and let the ache in his chest consume him. Dean moaned into his mouth and gripped his sides roughly. That was why Dean asked if he wanted to leave. Dean was only going to take him if Castiel chose to leave. He was offering freedom.

A small, feeble noise rose up from his chest, turning into a whimper as he pressed his body close to Dean’s.

Dean broke the kiss and panted against his face. “You’ll consent to the contract?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes.”


End file.
